Touch
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: Hera got herself hurt doing something reckless, and Kanan's patching her up. His touch on her skin-and the anger in his eyes-isn't something she's going to forget anytime soon. One-shot.


A/N: Long author's note. Skip to second paragraph for notes pertinent to this fic. To those of you who left reviews on my last fic, "Ache," thank you so, so much. I think those were some of the nicest things I have ever read, and I appreciated your feedback so much. You all are lovely human beings. 3 I'm sorry for not responding individually; right after I posted that, I traveled across the country to go be in my best friend's wedding and got caught in a holiday whirlwind once I came home. Anyone else having a very busy week before Christmas?

Anyway, here's a little fic. It's not super well-developed; more conceptual than anything. In "A New Dawn," it's very explicitly stated that Hera had no qualms using her looks in order to accomplish a job. I have this headcanon that once or twice, Hera put her stubborn self in substantial danger doing this, which made Kanan Very Upset. I might write about it a few times; forgive me in advance if it gets redundant. **Warning: I made some references to assault.** (But don't worry, I left Space Mom alone.) Set about two-ish years after Gorse. One-shot.

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Touch

Hera leaned heavily against the shower wall, letting the scalding water knead her neck and shoulders. It was painful; fresh bruises and contusions littered her back and the water stung the sensitive, broken skin. But it also made her feel _clean_ after that mission—that stupid, stupid mission she'd known better than to try and pull without Kanan's cooperation.

He'd been hesitant about missions before, skeptical, even mildly disapproving sometimes; this had been something different. His mouth said, unequivocally, _no_ , and his stormy eyes conveyed something else entirely. Fear for her safety? Concern that maybe she had lost her mind? Disgust at her insistence they take _this_ mission? Hera wasn't sure. His refusal piqued her temper. Didn't he _understand_ how important this was?

She'd listened to him, nodded, argued only minimally, and then left the ship in the middle of the night to do the job herself, walking into a dangerous situation unarmed, alone, and cut off from coms. If she hadn't told Chopper what she was doing…

Hera shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the now-cold water she was standing under. She could still feel the stagnant air on her skin as she stood in that slave market, on display like a mere _thing_ , defiance burning in her eyes. She could still feel their hands _all over her body_ as they appraised her, decided her worth—too many beings. She'd been prepared it. She'd been prepared for all of it, and she knew that eventually she'd be able to put it away, to compartmentalize it and not let it bother her. She was safe now, after all, and her father, for all his shortcomings, had made sure she understood _exactly_ what vile things she'd be subjected to as a Twi'lek woman, should she ever find herself in the company of slavers.

She just hadn't realized how _many_ women—human and nonhuman alike—were being sold as slaves. She hadn't realized how _young_ some of them were. She hadn't realized how powerless and insignificant and tiny she was in this wretched galaxy—not until she stood on the auction platform, the job gone wrong, half-drugged and nearly naked and unable to help even herself. How could anyone ever succeed against so much evil?

She was supposed to have identified the head of the entire slaving ring so that his movements could be monitored and his operations dismantled, piece by piece. She killed him instead. She couldn't, at this moment, remember exactly what had gone wrong or when. She couldn't remember at what moment she'd seen Kanan at the back of the crowd, something deadly in his face. She just remembered him leaning over her as she lay in the dirt, beaten and dazed, as beings scattered in chaos. He hadn't been happy.

Neither would Fulcrum be.

Hera groaned, finally turning off the shower. She stepped out and reached for her towel—which wasn't there. Clean clothes, either. She stood for a few seconds, just blinking in confusion and dismay. Of _course_ she'd forgotten to grab all that. She rolled her shoulders, resigned to the fact that she was now going to have to step out into the hall wearing nothing. She prayed Kanan would be in some far corner of the ship.

He wasn't.

Hera just about made it to her cabin door when she heard his voice from behind her. "Stop."

The single word was too quiet, too firm and it sent goosebumps all over her; it was the same sensation which warned her against the mission in the first place. This time, she listened.

She did not turn to face Kanan as he came closer, footsteps slow. Neither of them spoke. Hera could feel him close behind her, eyes heavy on the cuts and bruises marring her back. She clenched her teeth when he stepped in front of her. Her cheeks flushed hot and she turned her face away from his; not because she felt any sense of virginal modesty or shame to be seen by him, but because she'd imagined that when— _if_ —if they ever—

She'd wanted him to look at her like, like—not like this.

His eyes were hard and the rest of his face stoic as he took stock of the injuries on her body. She was tempted to say that it all _looked_ worse than it really was, but she held her tongue. He turned just a shade pale when his eyes landed on the scratches on her legs spanning from knee to mid-thigh. He swallowed hard. "Did—"

"No," she answered sharply. He stared at her, clearly trying to discern whether she was lying to him or not. "I—" She stopped, working very hard to soften her tone of voice. "I would tell you."

He accepted that with a curt nod and his shoulders relaxed. "You need to let me treat your back. Those cuts will get infect if you don't."

"Fine." She still didn't look at him. "Just…let me put something on. Give me a few minutes. Can we do it in my room?"

"Fine."

Without another word or glance, he walked toward the medbay and Hera went to her room, grateful to be in her own space. She wanted to just lay on her bed and be still and not think, but she also wanted to not be caught completely naked by Kanan again. Hurriedly, she pulled on a pair of underwear and sleep pants, laying on her stomach so that only her back was still exposed. She kept her head turned toward the wall. Kanan came in following a light knock and silently set to work, unzipping a medpack and setting it on the floor beside him. Even kneeling by the bunk he was tall enough to lean over and tend her wounds.

Hera felt the heat of his skin hovering just centimeters above hers before his hands pulled back hesitantly. "I'm going to touch you," he said. It was a question as much as it was a statement.

"It's alright." Hera's words were mumbled against her arms, head resting on them. She felt him shift, leaning against the bunk. His fingertips brushed the nape of her neck, moving carefully from side to side as he worked down her spine, feeling the swollen bruises and cuts. If he'd been doing that under… _different_ circumstances, she'd have noticed the calluses on his hands and wondered what kind of work had put them there. But now it was all she could do to keep from flinching away. Her muscles were tense with the effort and the pain. She hadn't realized just how badly she was hurting. When he touched an antiseptic-soaked pad to her skin, she choked on a pained cry. She couldn't see it, but a concerned crease appeared between Kanan's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try and go quick."

She nodded, sucking a breath through her teeth when he touched her again. He was dabbing between her shoulders working slowly down the rest of her back. He was doing it as carefully as possible, yet Hera instinctively knew that he'd rather be strangling her with his bare hands. "You're angry," she murmured. Her voice was brittle as she tried fighting against the pain.

"Angry," he repeated, shaking his head. "I don't know what I am, to tell you the truth." His hands fell still for just a moment. "They could have hurt you, Hera. I'm talking about worse than this."

She knew exactly what he was talking about. "I know."

He set back to work, this time spreading an anti-bac ointment. The pain and pressure was almost intolerable, but Hera managed to hold still. She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. Her bruises were throbbing and her cuts on fire. "How much longer—"

"Done. Do you have a loose-fitting shirt you can put on?"

"Uh, no," she said, thinking through her wardrobe. "Not really."

She heard Kanan get up and leave, coming back not fifteen seconds later. "Here—put on one of mine. It's clean." He set it at her elbow and she took it, sitting up slowly with her back to him. She pulled it on over her head and it felt like the most arduous thing she'd ever done.

"I…I need help." Her face flushed hot.

Wordlessly, Kanan helped her maneuver her arms through the sleeves. Her lekku were still hanging inside the collar. Once again, he hesitated to touch her. "Can I…?"

She remembered then telling him once how intimate it was for a Twi'lek woman to allow anyone to touch her lekku. She'd never let anyone close enough, hadn't really cared to, but suddenly, she wished, wondered—

"Hera?"

"Yes," she breathed, coming back to herself. "Yes—it's alright."

Hera shivered when she felt his warm hand against her lekku, gently lifting one and then the other, carefully draping them over her shoulders so they wouldn't put any extra weight on her back. She turned around then, finally facing him. His eyes were almost completely unreadable, except for the weight of worry lingering in their teal depths. He knelt back by her bunk, taking that meditative pose he seemed to favor. Tentatively, he reached out to stroke her cheek. "You look terrible," he said softly.

"I feel terrible." She twisted her hands in her lap. "Kanan, I—I'm sorry. I should have listened when you said—I'm sorry," she repeated.

A look of distaste flicked over his features. He eased up out of the floor to sit on the very edge of the bunk. "I don't—don't apologize, Hera."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't apologize? If you'd done what I did, I'd be out for blood. _Your_ blood."

"It was not my favorite thing," he admitted roughly, "seeing you like that. Hurt, exposed, unconscious." His eyes burned into hers. "But I'm not angry. Not now."

"What, then?"

"Honestly?" He scrubbed a hand over his face and she realized how very, very worn he looked. "It scared me. For a second I thought—I thought you were dead, Hera, and it was—I haven't felt that way since my master—I can't lose you, okay?"

Hera was stunned to hear him say anything about his master, let alone to hear him equating that loss with the idea of losing _her_. She kept her expression in check and reached for his hand. He was surprised by the contact, but didn't let go. "I'm right here, Kanan."

"We put our lives on the line doing the stuff we do—I'm good with that. I'm good with this crusade you're on against the Empire. I care about things now, and I didn't used to. But I want you to listen to me very carefully." He leaned close and Hera's eyes widened; there was something in his face she'd never seen before. His voice was little more than a rumble in his chest when he spoke again. "I care about you more than I care about any of that other crap, and I will never, _ever_ be okay with watching you use yourself for a job, letting you put yourself in that kind of danger. Don't ask me to be. Never again, Hera. _Never._ "

He jolted to his feet and made quick strides for the door, leaving a reeling Hera behind him. For a moment, she felt something she'd never felt before in the course of her entire life: _meek_. Meek and a little bit afraid of what he'd do if she ever took the notion to cross him on this. "Yes, Kanan," she heard herself say.

"Good," he said with a tight nod as he left the room. The door whooshed shut and Hera just stared.

What the _kriff_ _?_

She leaned her head back against the wall and absently stroked one lek in the same place his hand had been. His touch on her skin was not something she'd soon forget, but it was his touch on her life that she couldn't stop thinking about, and her touch on his. Two years of traveling together, working together, risking their lives together, and suddenly _friendship_ was too small a word, too inadequate to describe what had grown between them.

She realized numbly that everything that had passed between them today could be boiled down to a simple handful of words. With trembling lips, she spoke them to the empty room.

"I love you, too, Kanan."

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A/N: Honest thoughts? The good, the bad, the ugly?


End file.
